


Cutting Ties (And Forging New Ones)

by dogmatix, norcumi



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Tumblr Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-21
Updated: 2016-02-21
Packaged: 2018-05-22 08:56:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6073141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dogmatix/pseuds/dogmatix, https://archiveofourown.org/users/norcumi/pseuds/norcumi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A snippet of a clone, and his background, inspired by a comment about about a brother who “stays bald out of stubbornness and spite.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cutting Ties (And Forging New Ones)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fatgeesesayhonk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fatgeesesayhonk/gifts).



> In Flamethrower's [Lost in the Echo IV](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4124803), fatgeesesayhonk made a glorious comment that started a trail that had to be chased down.

It was always the small things. When he’d been a cadet, brothers were expected to fit a pattern, to be identical so as to not make life difficult for their trainers. If the only difference in their upbringing that the Kaminoans or the trainers could see was the resulting skill level, then they were happy.

So brothers kept a lot of things on the low down.

He was always an oddity. No one could figure out the first time how he shaved his head, completely bald and not a hint of a ragged cut. Totally shaved. He got scolded for it, lectured and there was a fun little threat of reconditioning but really, what did it matter? They were second gens, and everyone knew the Kaminoans needed every last body they could retain to meet the demand for the purchased army.

Besides, under the helmets, no one could tell. So the trainers tried to turn a blind eye on one stubborn clone cadet. Except for the one or two that thought it was a hoot and made sure he had access to trimmers.

By the time they shipped out to Geonosis, he had a tiny set in his kit, a backup trimmer tucked into a small belt pouch, and an archaic, non-electronic blade tucked into his boot that could double as a fall back weapon if need be.

It was part game, part lifestyle. _No one_ saw him shaving, face or head. He became a master of sneaking a trimmer along his face and head underneath whatever he could pass off as a blanket or pillow. By the time he and his troop brothers were being shipped off to battle, there were joking little comments about how he just made sure his hair didn’t grow out of sheer damn spite and determination. 

It was fun. It was absurd. He loved how it was clear a lot of brothers weren’t even sure if that was accurate, or if he was just fast and sneaky (he considered himself clever too). 

Then their transport was hit. He had to watch wounded and dead brothers all around him, the clankers indifferent and methodical as they shot the dying, the wounded, everyone.

The little razor blade in his boot was long enough to let him dice through the last few clankers he couldn’t shoot on his way out.

He threw it away, tossing it into a brook as he splashed through it, abandoning armor along each tired, bitter step. He let his hair grow. Itchy, annoying, down to his shoulders and the persistent reminder of his penance for  _living_ never stopped. 

He was alive, his brothers were dead, and the whole mess was a farce.

He didn’t start living, though, until he found a job. Simple work. Growing things. Bringing life instead of death. 

Falling in love, romantic love with the woman who employed him and worked with him and insisted with a gentle laugh that he tie his damn hair back, because otherwise the stock animals might try to eat  _him_ . 

Gentle, more affectionate love for her kids. Spunky, bright little things that he wanted to see safe and happy.

The day Suu asked him to marry her, the brother who pretended he never had to cut his hair finally shaved, though he left his hair long since he’d gotten used to that. He took on a second name, a gift from his new wife, tying him into their little family. Lawquane. He liked the sound of it. It always reminded him of growing things, the promise of life.


End file.
